the least favorite song.....since preschool

My preschool carpool buddy, Eric, and his Mom with frizzy brown hair took me to the Lutheran church for preschool on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. Then van Eric's mom drove was a reddish-brown and had soft velvety seats. I always liked to sit on the driver's side in the back seat as far from Eric as possible. After all, he was a boy.

Eric's mom always let him sit in the front seat. It has not occurred to me until now that this could be dangerous. She did not even make him wear his seat belt. She also let him play his cassette tape on the way to preschool. His favorite song was "puff the magic dragon". It was the first song on the tape. When the song finished he played it over and over until the reddish brown van arrived at the church.

The song was played every morning on the way to preschool. At first I thought Eric was cool because he knew all the words to the song. At that age the majority of the songs I liked were the ones I made up when I played outside or sang to my stuffed animals before I went to bed. I grew to despise the song. I also grew to despise Eric and his love of magical dragons. I do not remember if I dislike the song because it was played so often or if it is because I was jealous of Eric knowing all the words.

I was always polite in the van. I did not verbalize my hatred towards the dragon or towards Eric and when he routinely requested the puff the magic dragon song, I did not object. I sat quietly in the back of the van on the velvet seat and looked out the window. I made up fantasies of riding horses and picking flowers in a meadow to preoccupy my thoughts. Puff the magic dragon has forever been my least favorite song since I can remember.

lion's mane

I have the habit of listening to iron and wine on my way home in the summer evenings. I take the usual route home, down blondo street and past the house with the tall pine tree that, every year, is pleasantly decorated for the winter holidays.

The first song, lion's mane, begins my journey home. At this hour in the evening I am exhausted from the day's activities. It is my chance to immerse myself in the smooth, subtle music. The song usually starts when I get on fontelle boulevard, one of the busiest and accident prone streets in Omaha during rush hour. My mother always warns me to check my mirrors twice and look over my shoulder when I change lanes on that street. This is a continuous reminder as I hurry out the door for my evening activity. She doesn't stop her speech on safe and proper lane changing until I am in my car backing out the driveway. To spite her nagging, I only use my mirrors to merge and only check once if there are any cars in the other lanes on my way home.

About a fourth of the way though the song, my car drifts into the next lane out of routine habit. I like having the road to myself. I feel no guilt in my greed of fontelle boulevard. Soon my next turn appears. It is the curvy road with the roundabout at the end. On this street there is always a blue car parked in front of the cottage style house and on Tuesdays the garbage and recycle bins are on the curb. I have sometimes wondered if the recycling bins and the garbage cans get scared when they are left out at night. Usually they are tucked safely away in the garage and not so close to the street. Nonetheless, their owners put them away in the mornings when they almost back into them with their cars.

After the dizzying turns on the roundabout lion's mane is about half way done. I alternate in singing along with the words and humming. My attention to the song drifts towards the end. My mother's voice alerts and wakens me, cautioning me to drive safely. By then the next song is playing and take notice of the tall pine tree and wonder how many other cars it has seen drive by.